


Mourning

by HufflepuffBanana



Series: Of Love and of Grief [Blackhill] [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Canon Compliant, F/F, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied Character Death, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Sadness, blackhill - Freeform, i wrote this at 2 am so i apologize for any errors or badly-worded stuff, you can tell that i love 7-eleven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 13:10:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20097742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HufflepuffBanana/pseuds/HufflepuffBanana
Summary: Natasha and Maria mourn each other's deaths, years apart. Blackhill, oneshot, Infinity War-compliant, Endgame-compliant, angst





	Mourning

**Author's Note:**

> Ooh, more angst. This one is angstier than my "Five Nights" fic, and is now apparently the sequel, because I wanted it to be. This one has a bit of implied fluff, but is primarily angst and sadness and hopefully-not-too-OOC-reactions.
> 
> WARNINGS: Implied character death. This is also considerably sadder and angstier than Part 1.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Any recognizable characters, settings, events, objects, and concepts do not belong to me. I am not claiming ownership of them, and intend no copyright infringement. I am writing this story for fun, not for profit.

Two years.

Two years since the Snap, to years since Natasha had come home to find Maria gone, two years of grief.

It _hurt_, damn it, it _hurt_.

It was nearly impossible to go anywhere to go anywhere without thinking of Maria, without remembering _something_, and so she didn't go anywhere. Natasha didn't really have a permanent place of residence anymore; some nights she spent in her (_their_) apartment, other nights in the Avengers compound. She would go out and buy food once every two weeks and spend the majority of her time indoors. It didn't matter where she was staying; she would lock herself in her (_their_) apartment, or on her level of the compound, and wouldn't see the sun for days. She would stay awake for a week and then sleep for days on end. She wanted to neither sleep nor remain awake, because when she slept, she dreamt of Maria, and when she was awake, she remembered.

Natasha would wander the streets of New York, sometimes. She told herself (and she told Steve, too, those few times they talked) that these walks were to clear her mind; but, more often than not, these attempts to clear her mind would only lead to Natasha thinking more—about one particular person (_guess who?_). She struggled to find a place to eat or grab a drink where she hadn't been with Maria, but there was a 7-Eleven a few streets away where she could buy a Slurpee and a soda and a bag of chips without being plagued by memories. She could make a quick fun to the store and return to her (_their_) apartment, only to eat an entire pizza and drink seven too many bottles of Diet Dr. Pepper.

Too many things around her (_their_) apartment reminded her of Maria. Natasha had punched the mirror in the hallway because how _dare_ it remind her of getting ready for parties and kissing outside their bedroom door and living together, as one, _alive_. She strummed Maria's old guitar once, only to remember one of the many nights when Maria would play, grinning as Natasha hummed along.

She didn't dare disturb anything else that had been Maria's, aside for two things that she had pulled out of the dresser. The first was a hoodie she had frantically pulled on in the first week following the Snap, just to feel as if Maria were there with her, holding her, _alive_, instead of a pile of dust in the middle of God-knew-where. She had sobbed harder than she ever had, curled up in the hoodie, nose tucked into the fabric and hoping it would bring her back. The next morning, she couldn't smell Maria on the hoodie, and cursed herself for ruining one of the only things she had left. The second thing was a t-shirt she had carefully removed from the dresser, only a week ago. She sat on the edge of the bed with shaking hands, bringing the shirt up to her nose and inhaling. It still smelled like Maria. She kept the t-shirt under Maria's pillow, and would clutch it to her chest some nights when she couldn't sleep or couldn't stand the memories or just wanted to cry until she felt numb and could only remember the last bit of home she'd lost.

When she'd returned the hoodie to the dresser, washed and poorly-folded, Natasha had found a little black box at the side of the drawer, not quite halfway back, and she'd slammed the drawer shut with an anguished sob, because she _knew_ what it was, and all she could think was _Maria Maria Maria_, and she couldn't help but wish for more time, _just a little bit more time_.

It was the third Christmas following the Snap, _the third Christmas without Maria_, and the second anniversary of the Snap had been just over three months ago, August twenty-first. Natasha found herself in that one diner on the corner, being led to that one booth by that one window.

She hated this seat.

This diner was the one where Natasha had come with Maria on their first _proper_ date—because apparently, making out on the couch and cuddling while watching _The Lion King_ "didn't count"—and this was their _exact_ seat. She wasn't mistaken; she remembered the night as if it were yesterday.

Maria had been wearing a stark-white button-down and a navy blazer, that night, and she'd had her hair down. Natasha was a sucker for women wearing suits in general, but Maria had really pulled it off. Natasha glanced around, wishing that they hadn't come here so often, because now she was overwhelmed by all of the _memories_ she had of this place, of Maria. She could practically see herself and Maria doing stupid stuff around the place, and playing chess at the bar, and slow-dancing in that one corner over there. If she squinted her eyes just enough, that one tall woman with brown hair could maybe be Maria. She watched for a moment, her eyes closed just enough so that the outline of whoever it was looked sort of tall and sort of lean and sort of Maria. She had to look away after a moment, though, when the woman leaned in to kiss her boyfriend, and the illusion shattered before Natasha could find any comfort in it. She couldn't pay the check fast enough, leave the diner fast enough, and half-ran back to the apartment with her head ducked so that no one would see or question the tears that pooled in her eyes. It hurt.

It _ hurt._

_ Two years _ . It had been  _ two years _ . She’d spent two years  _ alone _ , wishing that she could escape all of the memories every place threw right at her face, wishing that they’d had just a little more  _ time _ . Natasha walked back to her ( _ their _ ) apartment alone, put the keys in the lock alone, closed the door behind it alone, rested her forehead against it alone.  _ Alone _ , always alone. How long would it be until she wasn’t? She’d asked Steve, once, if there was any way to bring everyone back, even without the Stones, though she knew that it was pointless. The Stones had turned everyone to dust, and the Stones were the only way to bring them back. Half of the world had been dusted, and now Natasha was alone,  _ alone _ , and would be for God-knew-how-long. And so she carefully crawled into bed,  _ alone _ . Natasha slid her hand under Maria's pillow, feeling for the t-shirt. She didn't want to get tears on it, but the smell of Maria was faint enough that she had to press her nose into it. The moonlight streamed through the window, and Natasha was hit with the memory of watching Maria drift off to sleep with the beams on her nose, so soft and beautiful and  _ safe _ . Natasha stared across the bed at the empty space next to her, tamping down the image of Maria, because after imagining Maria came the image of her  _ not _ being there, the absence beside her, only one person breathing in the room, only one heartbeat. And it hurt, it _ hurt _ . She'd spent so many years alone, in Russia, in the Red Room, and then she’d found Maria, and now Maria was gone, too, and it _ hurt _ . Natasha clutched at the shirt, curling her hands into it, praying she'd fall asleep before the could think of anything else, could imagine anything else. Natasha found herself whispering Maria's name aloud to no one other than herself, and "I love you", and something along the lines of "Just a little more time", before she eventually cried herself to sleep.

To say that she slept well would be a huge lie. Her dreams weren't _bad_, exactly; in fact, they were quite the opposite. But they involved Maria, each and every one of them involved Maria, and that was all that was needed to send Natasha into a fit of sobs that had her entire body shaking.

Natasha began to want to grab her things and Maria's t-shirt and maybe a few photos and just run away from it all, from everything, from all of these memories and all of this pain and all of this _hurt_, because the memories in their (_her_, now) apartment was simply too overwhelming to handle. But she had to stay, because there were Tony and Pepper and their little daughter Morgan and the rest of the Avengers that needed help grieving, and maybe Clint would end this killing spree he was on and return, and maybe—

And maybe they could find a way to bring everyone back, and Natasha could see Maria again, and they could turn their backs on the world and live their lives alone and yet together, somewhere away from...from all of _this_.

Natasha didn't like lying to herself—she usually faced the truth head-on and dealt with whatever problems that caused later. But, even though she knew that it was impossible, she turned back into her pillow and Maria's t-shirt and convinced herself that there _was_ a way to bring everyone back, to bring _M__aria_ back, even just for one night.

Just for tonight.

* * *

"Where's Nat?"

Those words were out of Maria's mouth within thirty seconds within waking up and accepting the fact that whatever had happened in the past God-knew-how-long—five years, she would later learn—and once they were out of her mouth, Fury gave her a look (or as much of a look as he _could_ give, having only one eye, but he turned away and started swiping through his phone.

For a few hours, there were no calls or texts for either of them, and only when they were aboard a Quinjet to the Bartons' farm did Fury finally turn back to Maria.

"I got a call."

"And?"

Fury glanced away, which confused maria; Fury was not uncomfortable with death—no, Nat was _not_ dead, _not__ dead_, she was _fine_, she was _alive_—

"Spit it out," she said, her voice low, dangerously low.

"I'm sorry."

And the world went still.

* * *

There wasn't a large funeral planned for Natasha like there was for Tony. The others claimed that it was because there was no body for them to bury, but Maria suspected that it was because no one really cared enough. _Maria cared_. Clint had arranged a tiny little memorial, but it wasn't quite as large or quite as elaborate as Tony's had been; there were no words spoken in honor, no big ceremony—it was just ten of them (Maria herself, and Fury, and Clint and Laura and their kids, as well as Pepper and Steve, and Wanda Maximoff) standing around a memorial headstone in a forest clearing, a beautiful forest clearing that Natasha would have loved, near the Starks' cabin.

And, four months, after the memorial, Maria was visiting the headstone. _Why am I doing this? This is stupid_.

_Because I miss her, and I love her, and _God_, I just want her back_.

"Hey, Nat," Maria said aloud, her voice cracking. It was too loud in the clearing, too alone. "It's been a while. I don't know why I didn't come sooner." Then she laughed bitterly, humorlessly. "Well, I—maybe I do. I was scared. I still don't know why I'm doing this.

"Barton arranged a memorial. It was small, and—and you deserved more, but it was _something_, I suppose, and now you've got a headstone in a beautiful forest clearing near Stark cabin. You'd love it, I know you would."

She sniffed, and reached out. With a shaking hand, she traced the letters on the headstone, the letters spelling out _Natalia Alianovna "Natasha" Romanoff—1984-2014/2023_, and she swallowed.

"Why'd you do it, Nat? Steve returned those Infinity Stones, and he said he tried to bring you back but that it didn't work. That it was an everlasting exchange. You must've known that, Nat, you _must've_.

"It's hard, it really is." Her voice was at a whisper, now, nothing more than a whisper, and she had to squeeze her eyes shut to prevent the tears from falling. "I—I keep thinking that you'll _be_ there in the morning, and—you're _not_, and it—and it _hurts_, Nat, it _hurts_—" Her tears were falling freely, now, and Maria felt a choked sob rip from her throat. There had been other things that she'd planned to say, but she didn't think that she'd be able to manage them. So she settled for whispering, "I love you, Nat," and rushing out of the forest. She brushed past Pepper, who had come out of the house and tried to lace a comforting, maybe reassuring hand on Maria's shoulder, and she practically flew into the driver's seat of the car, slamming the door. She somehow managed to make it back to the apartment, and immediately ran to the bedroom and leaned against the wall.

She caught a glimpse of a piece of fabric sticking out from beneath her pillow, and lifted the pillow up just slightly to find the grey t-shirt she'd worn the day before the Snap. There were faint tear stains, and Maria closed her eyes, not wanting to think about how many nights Natasha must have spent here, _alone_.

When she opened her eyes again, her eyes drifted over to the dresser—more specifically, the drawer where she'd kept that little black box. She crossed the room slowly and slid open the drawer. The first thing Maria noticed was the poorly-folded hoodie. There was only one person who would have moved it. Maria dipped her head, burying her face in the fabric of the hoodie.

It smelled like Natasha.

Then her eyes drifted over to the little box, and she noticed two things. The first was that the box wasn't in the exact place she'd left it, which meant one of two things: either Natasha had moved it, or she'd seen it and reacted emotionally enough to move it, intentionally or not. She second thing she noticed about it was the small sticky note attached to the box, which Maria had definitely not put there. She lifted it with a shaky hand, and saw that the note read only one word: _Yes_.

Maria dropped the box back into the drawer and slammed the drawer shut, the tears falling faster now, and she opened the drawer again, just a crack, and grabbed the hoodie that smelled of Natasha. And she fell to the ground, curled up in a ball with her knees drawn up to her chin, face buried in the hoodie and her knees, and she cried.

She just wanted more time, _just a little more time_.


End file.
